Page 29 of Born in Sin (Phoenix #3)

Chapter Fifteen

VIRAT

Virat sat in his uncomfortable chair, stuffed into the surveillance van with Ishaan and two other employees, his gaze trained on the screens in front of them.

It was the night of the hospital fundraiser.

He watched as the guests, dressed in the latest of fashions, walked in through the large double doors of the venue.

Amay, in a dapper tuxedo, held out an arm for Dhrithi who wore a long, midnight blue flowing dress that looked like it belonged on the red carpet.

Amay paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back, and Virat saw the excitement stream through the paparazzi huddled by the steps.

A hospital fundraiser wouldn’t normally attract this level of media or tabloid interest but then again, a hospital fundraiser didn’t always have two of the nation’s biggest stars attending.

A Range Rover pulled up and a safari suited bodyguard jumped out of the front seat.

Kabir, in another tuxedo, got out of one side and walked over to the other.

Virat watched as the door slowly opened and a long leg ending in a sparkling, champagne gold stiletto landed delicately on the pavement.

He saw the flutter of warm yellow fabric and then she stepped out from behind the cover of the car door.

The pinch in his chest could either be violent emotion or a heart attack, he thought dispassionately as he watched Cara take Kabir’s arm. They turned as one, a well-oiled machine, to wave to the press huddled around the stairs. The cameras went wild, flashes exploding, lighting up the night.

But there was only one light that held his attention, the center of the sun in his universe, who stood there, with another man.

Kabir bent his head to hers and whispered something in her ear and Virat watched as she threw back her head and laughed. The paparazzi went crazy at the interaction even as Virat raised a hand to absently rub at his aching chest.

“I’m sorry,” Ishaan murmured.

“For?” Virat didn’t move his eyes from the screen. With a final wave, Kabir and Cara turned towards the front of the stairs, ascending it, with the protective cocoon of their security around them.

“For pushing you to reach out to her. I didn’t realise…” Ishaan’s voice trailed off.

Cara disappeared from sight through the doors and Virat finally looked away.

“Realise what?”

“That there was still so much between you two.”

“I don’t think there will ever be a moment when there isn’t.” Virat stared at the closed doors of the hospital; the ones Cara had disappeared behind.

“And yet, she’s dating someone else.”

“You can love someone with every fiber of your being and still know that they are not for you. Celi is mine, will always be mine. Cara is his.”

“Sir.” Bhargav, Virat’s team member held out headphones to him. “They’ve made contact.”

Instantly, the mood in the van changed, the energy shifting. Virat and Ishaan slipped headphones on, the screen changing to highlight the visual from Amay’s camera.

Naveen’s smirking face appeared on the screen, his pupils blown as was the norm for him. He sniffed, wiping the back of his hand under his nose, as his gaze swept over Amay.

“Did you alter your father’s tuxedo to fit you, Aatre?”

“Are you still in seventh grade, Kumar?” Amay drawled, sounding bored. “Your supposed insults haven’t grown along with your paunch.”

Majid appeared behind Naveen, placing a hand on his shoulder. Whatever he murmured was inaudible over their headsets. Naveen nodded and shrugged.

“Bhabhiji,” Naveen said next, a sneer twisting his lips. “Widowhood looks good on you.”

“Being an asshole doesn’t look good on you.” Dhrithi’s serene voice came through clearly though she wasn’t visible on the screen. “But then nothing really looks good on a cokehead loser.”

Virat watched the vein in Naveen’s head throb as he glared in the direction of Dhrithi’s voice. Ishaan leaned forward in his seat, tensing.

“Amay’s there,” Virat murmured, even as his own senses went on high alert. Ever since Mayukhi had been kidnapped by the Dusty Devils, Virat and his friends did not make the mistake of underestimating them.

A flash of yellow appeared in the corner of the screen, sunshine in a slim frame. A strange voice interrupted the toxic conversation taking place.

“Dr. Aatre, I’d like to introduce you to Ms. Cara Ferns and Mr. Kabir Raizada, our primary donors for the new, not for profit, pediatric cancer wing.”

Virat watched Naveen and Majid’s faces as the conversation continued without them.

There wasn’t a flicker of recognition on either of their faces as they stared in the direction of Cara and Kabir, only the same awe struck, gormless expression people generally adopted when in the presence of movie stars.

A lilting laugh percolated through the airwaves and Majid’s eyes sharpened for a second as he glanced at Cara but then he shook his head and turned away, looking to drag Naveen away from the conversation that pointedly excluded them.

Don’t play games with me, whoever you are. This won’t end well.

That was the last message Majid had sent Cara’s burner phone in response to her taunting messages.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Cara’s voice stopped Naveen and Majid’s exit. She stepped into view of the camera stitched into Amay’s tuxedo. “We didn’t mean to be rude by interrupting your conversation with Dr. Aatre. I’m Cara Ferns.”

Virat tensed, his fist clenching by his side.

Naveen’s mouth fell open when Cara addressed him, making him look like an even bigger idiot and giving Virat and Ishaan a view of half chewed chicken kabab.

Majid just watched her, an intent look on his face.

He had always been the bigger danger in the group, the most intelligent of the lot after Varun.

Quiet and deadly, his vindictive depths as yet, unplumbed.

“I-I-I-“ Naveen stammered.

Ishaan snorted. “Dickhead.”

Before the conversation could go any further, the squeal of a microphone being tested echoed through the room. There was general, shared laughter and the crowd began an exodus towards the stage set up at the front of the room.

A sense of disquiet swam through Virat as he watched Majid watch Cara. He couldn’t possibly guess at her identity, could he? There was nothing of Celina in Cara, not on the outside.

“Amay.” Virat leaned into the microphone on his end. “Keep an eye on Majid. I think he suspects something.”

“On it,” Amay murmured, his voice barely audible.

Virat’s skin itched, an uncomfortable knowing settling through him. This whole plan was going to go sideways, again. And he’d just brought Cara into it for nothing.